


Frot

by Wordweaver



Category: One Piece
Genre: Complete, I swear this just wrote itself, M/M, Mild Smut, One Shot, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordweaver/pseuds/Wordweaver
Summary: Sanji watches Zoro polishing his boots. With unexpected results.





	

 

* * *

 

 

Sanji shut the galley door behind him and strolled a couple of steps forward; took his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket and lit up, before leaning his folded arms with a pleasant exhaled smoky sigh on the rail.

His gaze drifted across the deck below him. It was mid-afternoon and warm, so most of his nakama were taking advantage of the fine weather to relax. Usopp and Luffy were - inevitably - fishing over opposite sides of the Thousand Sunny; Sanji made a mental note to make sure he supervised whatever got dumped into the aquarium later, to prevent their existing live larder from being devoured by whatever large and voracious sea-creature that Luffy would probably decide to stick in there.

Franky was up on the foredeck, strumming his guitar and crooning snatches of song with Brook. No doubt working on a new number to regale the crew with. Chopper wasn’t visible: maybe he was below in the infirmary, avoiding the heat of the afternoon sun by trying out some new medicinal compound. Or maybe he was just catching a nap.

 

 

Sanji’s gaze roamed down onto the lawn deck.

_Ahh. Now that’s what I call a view._

Two sun-loungers stood together on the grass on the starboard side of the deck, adorned with Robin in sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, an open book resting on her lap; and Nami soaking up the sunshine in one of her skimpiest bikinis. Sanji took a long moment to appreciate the loveliness on display, inhaling smoke then letting it exhale softly in their direction. Imagining the smoke curling into two blue-grey hearts and wafting down to his female nakama.

Nami yawned and rolled over onto her stomach, giving her hips a wriggle to settle more comfortably before pillowing her head on her folded arms. Robin lifted one fingertip to her mouth in an unconscious gesture, moistening its tip; before turning the page of her book.

Sanji made a mental note to prepare two long cold fruity drinks over ice and bring them out for the women in a little while. When they were both quite warm after lying in the sun, and would really appreciate his attentions.

 

 

His gaze drifted on a little reluctantly, travelling downwards, to the deck immediately below him. And a small frown kinked his brow.

Sitting cross-legged in the narrow strip of shade, his back against wall, sat Zoro. For once, not fast asleep and snoring loud enough to scare away marine life. His katana were propped beside him and he was barefoot, his boots lying on the grass just in front of him, as if he’d just kicked them off. Which wasn’t surprising: it was warm enough that even the marimo might be feeling it. Sanji certainly had been, clearing away after lunch and prepping for supper in the galley.

Zoro didn’t seem aware of the chef’s scrutiny from above. He scratched lightly at his chest through his shirt, yawning; then turned his head to one side, reaching out. Sanji saw a glint of metal, something round. The sound of a lid being unscrewed, before Zoro set a jar back down on the grass, flicking its metal lid aside.

Sanji leaned forward, mildly intrigued despite himself. He could see something inside the jar: whiteish, glistening. It looked like... wax? Or grease?

 

 

Zoro leaned forward slightly and picked up one of his boots, sliding it upside down onto his right hand. Then he reached out to the jar with his other hand and dug two of his fingers into the contents, scooping out a small blob... Before smearing it onto the boot with his fingers.

Sanji’s eyebrow raised.

_Grease, then._

It made sense. Shipboard life was rough on footwear. Salt spray and howling gales and scorching sun attacked leather, drying it out and cracking it unless you protected it with something. Sanji himself always made sure that whatever shoes he was wearing were polished to a shine (as well as complementing whatever suit he happened to be wearing, obviously). He always bought well-made shoes, not stinting himself. Being a cook he was on his feet a lot and comfort was important, of course... But also his feet were his weapons in battle, so a good pair of shoes made a lot of difference when you were kicking the shit out of someone’s dental work.

 

 

Zoro’s choice of footwear, though, had never registered much on Sanji’s radar. Largely because it seemed to be chosen, like most of Zoro’s wardrobe, for utility rather than looks. Black boots that came up to the swordsman’s mid-calf, with chunky soles that clumped on deck whenever the moss-head was moving about. Which came in useful if Sanji was trying to avoid him. Although for someone as lacking in subtlety as Zoro was, the swordsman could move surprisingly silently when he wanted to.

It was typical that Zoro was polishing his boots with his _fingers_ , though; instead of using a brush or a rag like any civilised human being. The swordsman kept pausing to prod his fingers into the pot of grease at his side, before wiping the oily paste onto the boot and working it in, circling his fingertips firmly against the black leather. The heat of the afternoon was melting the grease so that it spread: Sanji could see the shine of it on Zoro’s hand. It didn’t seem to bother him, as he continued to push his two fingers slowly, rhythmically, back and forth against the leather. Working at a small area until the grease soaked in and the boot softened, grew pliable beneath his touch. Then returning his fingers to collect another dab of grease, stroking that slowly against the leather. Unhurried.

There was something weirdly hypnotic about watching the process. Maybe it was the swordsman’s absorption in his task, his quiet focus. Which was one of Zoro’s better qualities, Sanji would be prepared to admit. The way he could be totally single-minded, pursuing a goal. Whether that goal was taking out an opponent, or driving the cook against the bed until they both came like a tsunami.

 

 

_Uh. What?_

 

 

Sanji blinked. And wondered how, in the space of half a second, his thoughts had gone from watching Zoro cleaning his boots, to... _That_.

His gaze was still bent downwards. To where Zoro sat. The swordsman was inspecting the boot he was holding, apparently checking he hadn’t missed a spot. Then he set it down on the grass beside him, before picking up the other boot. He extended his left hand again and curled his fingertips into the soft grease, before applying it to the leather. Pushing deliberately slowly, back and forth. Spreading his fingers, just a little.

Sanji found himself clenching his teeth on his cigarette. And possessed of a sudden overwhelming urge to go somewhere private.

He backed away from the rail, then turned and groped for the galley door. Hoping that crushing ice for making the women’s drinks would be enough of a distraction to quell the raging hard-on now taking up residence in his pants. And absolutely not thinking right now about the window of opportunity that would present itself later, when neither he nor Zoro had watch duty tonight.

_Crush ice. Make drinks._

Sweat prickled on his skin as he escaped into the galley’s shade.

 

 

The _clunk_ of the galley door closing a little harder than necessary reached Zoro, where he sat on the grassy deck. He continued to work the grease into the leather, turning the boot so he could reach another part of it. The faint tang of cigarette smoke drifted away on the faint afternoon breeze, then faded to nothing.

_That dumb ero-cook never remembers to stand downwind._

His fingers gave the boot one final, firm caress: his fingers brushing smoothly against the slick leather. Before setting it down beside the other.

And the corners of his mouth lifted upwards. In a slow, anticipatory smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I solemnly swear that this fic just wrote itself in my head, while I was polishing a new pair of boots. And writing it down and posting it here was an attempt to get it out of my head. EPIC FAIL. I will never be able to polish a pair of boots again without thinking of this. *Attempts to feel bad about it, and fails.*
> 
> ...And for those of you who want to know:  
> Frot:  
> (1) Verb: to soften leather by rubbing or polishing.  
> (2) Slang: non-penetrative sex involving penis-to-penis contact.


End file.
